


Hanaoi Week 2017

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Canon Compliant, Crying, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Slice of Life, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-30 06:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10155995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: Seven fills for hanaoi week. Summaries in the notes of each chapter.





	1. Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> For Hanaoi Week Day 1: Mercury  
> TW: suicide attempt aftermath [not explicitly depicted]  
> This was written as a vent piece.
> 
>  
> 
> _Did I tell you enough? Did I tell you how much I love you enough?_

_ Did I tell you enough? Did I tell you how much I love you enough?  _

Oikawa wasn’t sure if he was breathing. Nothing made sense, not through the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart through his head. Trembling fingers pressed to his face as he stared ahead, blind to the world around him. He rocked back and forth, head shaking, nails biting into his skin, even that pain too dull. 

_ I didn’t. If I had then this wouldn’t- he wouldn’t-  _

There were hands on him, voices whispering through the haze, but he couldn’t sort it all out. He just hunched over further, gasps raking his throat, puncturing his lungs. Guilt, so much  _ guilt _ that it gnawed at him, ripped a hole through him and left him unable to stitch it all back together.  _ I should have told him I loved him. I just let him leave. I’m stupid, so fucking stupid, so-  _

Hands curled overtop his, warm, pulled his gaze up from the wooden floorboards of the club room. Features slowly came into focus as he blinked, breath catching. Green eyes. Tan skin. Spiky black hair. Lips that moved, formed words that didn’t reach him at first, then finally sank in.  _ “Tooru,  _ listen to me. You have to  _ breathe  _ okay? In for a five seconds, remember?” He shook his head frantically, a sharp keen warbling out as he tried to rock forward, only for Iwaizumi’s hands to stop him. “Tooru, Tooru, you can do this. You have to do this, you have to try and calm down.” 

_ I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!  _ Not with those words ringing through his ears, not with a thousand images conjured up in his mind.  _ “Tooru, Takahiro is in the hospital. He… he tried to kill himself.”  _ Over and over, a sick mantra that beat in tune with his heart, pushing poison through his veins as he trembled, grasped at slick threads of stability.  _ What if he’s dead?  _

A gasp punched through him and he twisted away, out of Iwaizumi’s grasp, and his limbs snapped in, hands tangled into his hair, chest  _ collapsing _ on itself. Those hands returned, this time for a full embrace, one he couldn’t escape from, and Tooru shuddered, a sob bursting out as he leaned into Iwaizumi, head spinning as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m here,” his friend whispered into his ear, “It’s okay. You can do it. One breath at a time. Can you feel me breathing? Copy that.” 

Oikawa’s head jerked, his fingers unwound from his hair and fisted into Iwaizumi’s sports jacket, clinging. He hiccuped one breath down, then a second, chest impossibly tight. He wheezed into Iwaizumi’s damp shoulder, clung desperately as he fought for breath, fought to crush the panic overwhelming him. Oikawa swallowed hard, throat thick, and shoved further into Iwaizumi, shaking, sobbing. “S-s-sorry,” he choked out, eyes screwed up tight. 

“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi said softly, voice a steady rock against his hurricane. “You’re okay. There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

_ There is!  _ He wanted to shriek the words, but his throat had closed up. A quiet sound broke out instead as he stopped breathing once more, trembling violently as he slapped Iwaizumi’s chest.  _ I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry- I should’ve known, should’ve stopped you, should’ve-  _ Oikawa shook his head, another sob tearing out of him as he shook against Iwaizumi’s chest. 

“Breathe for me Tooru. In for five. Hold for seven. Out for five.” He nodded, barely coherent, the world swimming, but he sucked a breath down, held it for as long as he could before he let it ripple out. “Good, that’s good. Do another. Keep going. Kunimi, get some water.” 

Oikawa pushed everything to the side, all the noise, the movement, the smells, and pushed himself into Iwaizumi’s chest, his world narrowing down to him. To the warm hands on his back. To the steady heart and breathing underneath him. His hands fluttered along Iwaizumi’s neck before they slid up, tangled into his hair. Another breath shuddered out, slower than before. Another. Another still. Over and over to the calm, soothing rhythm of Iwaizumi’s voice as it curled through his ear, a subtle, soft sound that cracked the mess swirling inside, wormed its way inside. It didn’t stop until Oikawa was limp, still breathing shakily, but more  _ together  _ than before. 

He pulled back just a bit and dragged his shirt across his face, wiping away tears and snot. Hiding from the stares. He could feel them all, knew they were all still there, the entire team standing around he and Iwaizumi, still on the floor. Iwaizumi shifted against him. “Thanks,” he said quietly, then pulled one of Oikawa’s hands from his spiky hair and wrapped it around a cool water bottle. Oikawa blinked at it for a moment before things connected and he slowly opened it, hands shaking, and tipped it back, eyes screwed shut. 

His throat worked, sending sweet relief down through his burning, still too-tight chest, some spilling out. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He just drank until the bottle was empty and crinkled under his fingers before he sagged back forward and wiped his mouth, mechanical. Not because he wanted to. Because he had to. Because he couldn’t allow himself to be weak any more, even though all he wanted to do was scream and cry, break anything he could and crawl under covers and hide there until he could feel something other than that bone-crushing  _ terror.  _

“Oikawa?” Yahaba said quietly, shattering the pregnant silence that hung over the club room. 

His shoulders hitched with a wry laugh as his head bowed, focused on the water bottle clutched between his hands, long fingers interlaced. “Hanamaki… is in the hospital,” he rasped, voice thick, shaking. There was no flurry of voices, no whirlwind of actions. Only a stunned hush that wrapped them all up tight, suffocating. Oikawa clenched one hand into a fist, nails digging in so the burn in his eyes could go somewhere else, somewhere far, far,  _ far _ away. “He tried to commit suicide.” 

A fresh spike of guilt shot through him, left him breathless.  _ I saw the warning signs. I didn’t tell anyone.  _ Hanamaki had begged him not to, promised that he was getting better, that finally getting to meet his gender therapist was helping, that he was excited for practice, for the games coming up, for  _ everything.  _ But there had been fresh injuries just the other day. And last night on a phone call.  _ “I just wanted to hear your voice”  _ and  _ “I love you Tooru, more than you could ever know”  _ rang through his ears.  _ Then why did you do it? How bad were you hurting that you couldn’t tell me?  _

Oikawa bit his tongue and shoved himself up onto his feet, but he staggered and nearly collapsed back to the ground, legs trembling, weak. Hands shot out and grasped him, held him up. Oikawa blinked. Finally looked around for the first time since he’d hung up with Mrs. Hanamaki. Half the team was trembling, tears streaking their faces as they clung to him in silence. The other half stood there, shell-shocked with wide eyes and open mouths. 

A sound to his left made him turn, brought him face-to-face with Matsukawa. His face was pallid, eyes blank and mouth moving, but only a quiet whimper escaped. Oikawa twisted out from beneath the hands that held him up and stepped into Matsukawa instead, wrapping him up in a hug as tight as Iwaizumi had to him. His friend sagged into him, trembling, tears spilling onto Oikawa’s shoulder as he settled one hand in Matsukawa’s undercut, the other on his back. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know  _ anything.  _ So he stood there and held Matsukawa until the younger teen stilled and pulled away, wiping at his cheeks. 

Oikawa stepped back, blank, unsure on how steady he was. “I… need to go.” 

He managed to remember to grab his bag somehow, and he pressed the clubroom keys into Watari’s hands without a word before he slipped out into the cool evening air. He called his Mom. She picked up on the first ring. The conversation was quick. He could remember her panic, but not her words. He just felt a strange, cool calm as he drifted through the words, strode down the streets, and finally hung up. None of it had made sense.  _ Nothing  _ made sense. Just the path he walked, down streets he knew like the back of his hand. 

_ I have to get to him.  _

Sneakers slapped the pavement behind him and he turned, just as a hand slapped his back and he staggered forward. Oikawa whirled around, but he stilled when he found Iwaizumi and Matsukawa standing behind him, their eyes red-rimmed but determined. “You’re not going alone,” Matsukawa said softly. 

Oikawa blinked. Managed a fragile smile. “Thanks.” 

His friends just jerked their heads in a nod and stepped forward. Their hands slipped into his, warm, steady, fingers slipping together, familiar. Oikawa felt his heart seize at the sheer comfort that swamped him with that simple touch, but he didn’t say anything. He just marched on, steps more certain, his purpose clear. It took thirty minutes of walking for them to reach the hospital. They marched right in - but they didn’t even reach the front desk. 

Mr. Hanamaki stopped them just a meter inside, face pale and streaked with dried tears. He wordlessly led them through the hospital, hands shaking, and up to the second floor, where the ICU units were. The hall was quiet, the stench of cleaners, sickness, and something more chilling in the air. Oikawa shivered as he wrapped his arms around himself and let Hanamaki’s father lead him down the hall to the room at the end. He paused in front of the door, passed his hand over his face with a tired, shaky sigh. “Aki is in there now… he's asleep. They're only letting a few people in at a time.” 

Oikawa swallowed hard and nodded, hands shaking as he smiled weakly. “You should go back-” 

“I can't,” Mr. Hanamaki croaked with a shake of his head. He drew in a shuddering breath, shut those amber eyes so similar to his son’s. “I need to… get some coffee or something. And… he was asking for you Tooru.” 

Oikawa's stomach flipped as he nodded slowly. Mr. Hanamaki nodded back and spun away, steps unsteady. Someone nudged him forward and Oikawa stumbled, straightened up, opened the door. There was a steady beeping that filled the room, a soft, subtle overcurrent to the raspy breathing. He paused there, pressed his back to the door and took a breath, one hand pressed to his chest, trembling, another panic attack building, teasingly faint.  _ You can do this.  _ He swallowed hard and stepped forward, heart pounding. 

Mrs. Hanamaki was seated beneath the window, her hands busy knitting a pastel blue sweater. It would have been an image straight from the Hanamaki's home, Mrs. Hanamaki seated in her rocker in the living room, knitting needles clicking. Except she was crying quietly, tears dripping into the yarn, her hands shaking. She glanced up, her dark eyes glittering as she smiled. “Tooru…” Her voice cracked, weak, and she sniffed, gestured to the bed he'd been avoiding. “He… he's stable. Asked for you before he fell asleep. I…” Her head fell forward, needles clicking again. 

Oikawa sucked down a steeling breath and turned to the bed. His heart jumped into his throat, violent. Hanamaki was still on the bed, arms bandaged and laid out by his sides, dressed in a light blue hospital gown. There was a cannula in his nose. Two IV’s - one blood, one clear, some sort of liquid medicine. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, shut eyes flickering, skin pale and sweaty. Oikawa choked, pressed his hand to his mouth.  _ Hiro…  _

Hands trembling, Oikawa swallowed hard and grabbed a chair, set it close and sank into it. He leaned forward, carefully took his slender hand into his own. His fingers were cold, his palm clammy. Oikawa thumbed the back of his hand, smiling weakly as fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. “Hey there, Hiro,” he whispered as he squeezed that limp hand, “I'm sorry sweetheart… I'm here now.” He gently guided Hanamaki’s hand up and kissed those too-cool knuckles, lingering a second too long before he settled Hanamaki's hand on the bed once more. 

A wobbling smile crept to life on his face as he stroked the back of Hanamaki's hand. “Remember that time we went to the aquarium in Tokyo? It was really nice. Your face when you got to pet the stingrays was priceless. It was so nice… We kissed in front of the jellyfish tanks. Your first kiss. You were grinning and holding me so tight, and you were so  _ happy,  _ and God, you looked so handsome. I didn't want to leave, didn't want it to end.” 

It was sharp in his memory - hard not to be when it was do recent, just a month before. A date, their first despite having officially been together for four months at the time. Volleyball and school had kept them busy, but spring break had been a relief, a good stretch to go to Tokyo for the day and have a good day together. Hanamaki had worn a pretty blue button down, one that Oikawa had stolen and had yet to give back. They'd walked through the darkened halls with smiles and hands interlocked, Oikawa wearing Hanamaki's jacket because he'd been cold. 

Hanamaki had adored the turtles and jellyfish, utterly entranced by their slow, graceful movements through the water. Oikawa had been enraptured by his boyfriend, breath snatched away by those vibrant smiles that hadn't faltered for a moment, there from the moment he'd arrived and the Hanamaki residence to pick him up, bright and early, and all the way through to the night when he'd dropped Hanamaki off with another sweet kiss framed by darkness and the porch light, a soft turtle plush pressed between them. One he knew Hanamaki slept with every night, curled up tight around it - Matsukawa had sent him more than a few pictures. 

Oikawa managed a weak smile as he cautiously turned Hanamaki's hand over to stroke his palm, smiling softly, eyes glued to his face. The circles under his eyes were dark, but there was more color in his skin, a little more warmth.  _ Or maybe I'm just imagining it. I don't care at this point.  _ “When you wake up I'll be right here,” Oikawa breathed into the hush of the room. “I'm not going anywhere. You can't make me. And when you get out of here, let's go on a date. We can miss a day of practice for once. We can go to the ocean, I know you've never been. Or we can go to the mountains and find a cheap spa to stay at, go visit a shrine. Or we can just stay here and walk around, yeah?” 

Only silence met his words. He could feel Mrs. Hanamaki's eyes on him, but he didn't look away from that still face, from that slowly rising and falling chest. From the boy who had too quickly become his world. His smile wobbled, fragile. “I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You're my handsome man, Hiro… no one can take that from you. No matter what you think. You'll always be my pretty, brilliant, hardworking, hilarious boyfriend… okay?” 

The fingers in his hand twitched. 

Oikawa sniffed and wiped away a fresh wave of tears, the world blurring as he brought those cool fingers to his lips once more. “I'll be here. Take your time, Hiro. I'm not going anywhere.”  _ We’ll get through this, I promise.  _ They’d gotten through so much already. Together they could pick up those broken pieces and fill the seams with gold, leaving a beautiful piece behind, new and old, still fragile, but less likely to break than before.  _ I’m here. I love you.  _ Hanamaki’s eyes fluttered as his fingers weakly tightened on Oikawa’s, but they never opened. He bowed further over the bed and smiled, lips skimming across the back of his cool hand.  _ You can’t get rid of me, no matter what. _


	2. Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanaoi Week Day 2: Venus  
> Light NSFW
> 
> “I dunno Tooru, that was pretty gay right there.”
> 
> Tooru blinked at him, and then a crooked smile spread across his face as he shook his head. “I fucking hate you.”

Takahiro watched as Tooru wrung his hands together, uncertain, his eyes glued onto the boxes that filled his childhood room. It was well lived-in, with glow-in-the-dark stars and planets on the ceiling, sci-fi movie and volleyball posters on the walls. His bookshelf was filled with trophies and medals, books and music. Clothes no longer littered the floor in awkwardly clean lumps, instead all cleaned and packed away in his drawers, ready to be removed and packed into suitcases instead. “Tooru?”

His boyfriend turned, smiling, glass-like, too easy to see through. But Tooru carried on anyways, smiling brightly, eyes scrunched up. “Just wondering how I'm gonna pack all this.” 

“Well,” Takahiro teased as he sidestepped over, hooking one arm around Tooru's hip and pulling him close, “You don't have to take it all. I don't know if it’d fit in your dorm room anyways.” 

Tooru snorted and swatted him, but he didn't protest. He just sighed and leaned into Takahiro's side, lingering there for a long moment before he turned, kissed Takahiro's temple. “Thanks for helping.” 

Takahiro shrugged and smiled as he twisted, slipped their hands together, tangled their fingers and bumped their foreheads. “Of course,” he hummed as he swung their hands gently, “You have to go early because the teams have to move in early. I don't mind helping out. Plus it'll make sure that you stay together, you nut.” He was struggling, Takahiro could see that clear as day. Hajime had left two days before, his bags packed, ready for life in a university in the south playing volleyball and studying journalism. Matsukawa had gone with him to help set up their apartment, though he didn't need to be there for another week. It left the two of them preparing for their own college lives. But it went beyond that. 

The loss to Karasuno had been hard on him, on them all. The final departure from the team had taken its toll. Graduation had left them all in tears, clinging to each other and wondering how the next four years would go, if they would make it out in one piece. And something more had clearly been festering in Tooru because there had been more than one night where they'd ended up on a call, Tooru crying or speaking in a quiet, shaky voice, or nights where they'd slipped into each other's homes and their parents had found them tangled up in bed together, the signs of the crying the night before no longer visible. 

_ You've grown so much, don't you know?  _

Tooru always talked about talents blooming and instincts being honed, something he may have heard from Coach Irihata or some other volleyball player, but they had become words he lived by. Words he thought he'd failed.  _ “I didn't grow, Hiro. My talent, my instinct - they weren't enough to beat that stupid genius, that little shrimp.”  _

Takahiro squeezed Tooru's slender, calloused fingers, bandaged from where he'd jammed his pinkie practicing a few days ago.  _ Tooru, you have no idea how much you've bloomed. You've grown so, so much.  _ But Tooru didn't realize that, blind to his success when faced with his faults, with his failures. He always pushed through them, but Takahiro knew they nagged on him. They always had, from Hajime's word and Tooru's own confession. 

Tooru smiled faintly and dipped his head in, pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. “Love you,” he murmured. 

Takahiro grinned and chased after him for another kiss, swinging their hands out wide. “Love you too! Now let's get packing.” Tooru laughed and pulled back. 

They got to work, pulling out clothes and setting them on the bed, picking out what he would need for the next few months. Tooru's folding jobs were never the best, and as he picked outfits out Takahiro laughed and refolded the clothes, one eye on his boyfriend. Whenever his back was turned he slipped a piece of paper from between his pocket and slipped them between the clothes, inside them too, just a few.

They filled one suitcase and a duffle before Tooru was satisfied with that, then they moved on. Tooru took down a few of his posters while Takahiro folded his towels and sheets, humming along to an English song from Tooru's music library, something he halfway knew. It was easy to hide more notes in the plastic bin between the towels, then one tucked into his plastic box of toiletries. 

Tooru packed his own backpack and laptop bag and set them on the floor before he straightened up, stretched his back, and smiled wearily. “I'm gonna go to the bathroom and grab some water. You want some?” 

“Please!” 

Tooru pecked his cheek before he slipped away, back downstairs. Takahiro waited a second and grinned as he turned and pulled the biggest note from his pocket. It was a little crumpled, warm from his body, but the characters inside were crisp and clear, written in colorful inks. Tooru's name was in English at the top, spelled out in bold, bright colors with stars and other little things drawn around it, Dat Boi in the top right corner, none pizza with left beef in the left, Grumpy Cat over top his name. Takahiro glanced over it one last time before he slipped it into Tooru’s laptop back, tucked neatly inside, and sat down on Tooru’s bed, legs crossed and hands nestled in his lap. 

It only took another minute for Tooru to return, smiling brightly as he tossed a water bottle to Takahiro, which he caught with a deft hand. But he didn't open it, just stared at Tooru as his boyfriend drank, throat working, entrancing, until he stilled and looked at Takahiro. A small smile overtook his face, one that made warmth twist through Takahiro's stomach while his heart fluttered. 

He held his hands out without a word and Tooru set his water bottle aside, stepped into Takahiro’s embrace - except Tooru gently pushed him down onto the bed and Takahiro landed on his back, giggling as Tooru crawled on top of him, beaming, those beautiful brown eyes bright. One of Tooru’s hands tangled with his, the other cupped his jaw, tipped his face up as Tooru leaned in. Warm breath ghosted over his chin. Lips moved across his jaw, whisper-soft, quirked in a sweet smile. “I love you,” Tooru breathed into his skin. 

Takahiro  _ melted,  _ sliding one arm around Tooru’s back, pressing him down until they were chest-to-chest, legs dangling off the bed.  _ “Show me,”  _ he murmured against the corner of Tooru’s lips. He felt them twitch, that smile broadening. And then Tooru kissed him, just a peck that lingered and lingered and  _ lingered,  _ nothing changing until long fingers threaded through Takahiro’s hair and tugged gently. Their mouths started to move, slow, languid slides of their lips, motions melding together. 

Takahiro clutched Tooru’s hand, grinning as he chased after Tooru every time he eased back slightly, sighing with pleasure as he curled his arm, drew Tooru in closer, desperate for  _ more.  _ For more of the scent of his cologne and shampoo, something he’d be missing in just a few short hours. For more of his touch, with his warm hands and gentle, almost reverent with how they held him, worked their way along him. For  _ Tooru,  _ the weight sprawled overtop him with their hands clutched tight, another hand in his hair. 

_ I love you.  _

He loved the way Tooru nipped his lip and pulled back, eyes bright, grinning as he panted for a second before he leaned back in, eager for more. Loved the way Tooru stroked his thumb, such a simple sensation that somehow stole his attention from the movement of his lips, the flick of his tongue. Loved the way Tooru seemed to melt into him, inseparable between their breaths, their skin, their tangled bodies.  _ I love you to the moon and back.  _

Takahiro slid his hand up, tracing the path of Tooru’s spine as their tongues slid together, slow, slick. Up to his jaw as Tooru pulled back a little to nibble on Takahiro’s bottom lip. To his lips when Tooru parted for a breath, and that stilled his boyfriend, made him blink down at Takahiro with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, a view so beautiful that it made Takahiro  _ ache.  _ But he just grinned and thumbed his boyfriend’s swollen, reddened lips and smiled. “I dunno Tooru, that was pretty gay right there.” 

Tooru blinked at him, and then a crooked smile spread across his face as he shook his head. “I fucking hate you.” 

“Mm, we both know you  _ love _ me, even more than you love Ellen Ripley.” 

“Well… you’ve got me there, you little shit.” 

Takahiro winked and pinched Tooru’s cheek. “I’ve also got condoms and lube in my bag, and I’m all clean.” 

Tooru stilled, the smile slipping away as his eyes widened, comically wide as he stared down at Takahiro. “You-” 

“Positive.” 

Tooru  _ flew _ off Takahiro, left him giggling and clutching his side as Tooru rummaged through his bag, laughing and grinning too. 

Those sounds carried him into the next day, through the heartache as he and Tooru’s parents helped him pack the two cars they’d be taking, only one to return. It soothed the pain there as he kissed Tooru goodbye, holding him far too long, but not  _ nearly _ long enough all at once. He wanted to stay there in his arms, never let him go. But he did. And just a few hours later he found several texts waiting on him when he stepped out of the shower, eyes aching and red.

**From Too-ru-ru ٩(♡ε♡ )۶:** **  
** **[image attached]** **  
** **I love you so much Hiro** **  
** **So fucking much** **  
** **I’ll keep growing** **  
** **I won’t stop** **  
** **I promise**


	3. Stars In Our Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanaoi Week Day 3: Earth  
> SFW, No trigger warnings
> 
> Hanamaki blinked. Tore his eyes away from the sky to look at Oikawa, who was staring upwards, the universe held within those beautiful eyes. _I wish I could tell you._

“C’mon, c’mon, we’ll miss it!” Oikawa cried as he tugged on Hanamaki’s hand. The teen just smiled, chest strangely tight, as he allowed his friend to tug him along, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa laughing alongside them. 

There were blankets tucked beneath arms, bags on their backs filled with foods they’d bought and cooked just a little before. The field they jogged through was empty, the grass uncut and dotted with flowers, filled with the sweet scent of spring. Flowers bloomed. Cherry blossoms on the edge of the field had their light pinks that broke up the quiet dark of the woods around them. There was nothing between them and the sky, wide open, light blues melting into navy and indigo and a subtle black studded with stars, thick and bright so far from the town. Oikawa laughed breathlessly just ahead of him and Hanamaki couldn’t help but smile, fuzziness inside, as those long, calloused fingers tightened around his wrist. 

“Just a little further!” 

And indeed it was, just up to a little hill that jutted out, no trees on it to obstruct their view. Oikawa laughed, giddy, and his hand slipped away, left residual heat and the sense of loss twisted in Hanamaki as he watched his friend dart forward, moving in great leaps and bounds. He charged up the hill and stilled at the top, threw his hands wide as he tipped his head back to the sky. Laughter, loud and delighted, echoed through the quiet field, and the warmth it brought chased away that slight chill that had crept in. 

Hanamaki grinned. He lurched forward into a dash as well, and within moments he was on top of the hill too. He flung himself onto Oikawa’s back and they stumbled forward, but Oikawa caught them both, then twisted around and grabbed him. In the weakening sunlight and light of the moon it was all too easy to see the  _ glow _ that illuminated his face, left his cheeks flushed and eyes glittering as he beamed. “Hanamaki! We’re here! It’s so close! Come on guys, you’re so slow!” 

Hanamaki turned around, watched with a smile and a strange feeling in his chest as Matsukawa and Iwaizumi slowly trudged their way up the hill, purposely going slow just to irritate Oikawa. Their captain huffed, but he didn’t say anything more. He just untucked the quilt from it’s place beneath his arm and snapped it out, settled it on the ground. Hanamaki did the same so that their blankets overlapped. They shrugged their packs off as Matsukawa and Iwaizumi  _ finally _ reached the top of the hill, grinning slyly at each other. “Took you long enough,” Oikawa huffed, but there was no anger in his voice, only raw excitement, so pure and undiluted that it left Hanamaki spinning.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Oikawa so  _ genuinely delighted _ for something other than volleyball. Sure, there were the times when Oikawa yelled out his name, and those always made his heart trip strangely, but  _ this _ \- it was different. It was different because he was so close to Oikawa that he could see the faint freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks, right beneath his eyes, stark on his pale skin. So close that he could smell his cologne, spicy, earthy, melding in with the spring air around them until it was hard to tell where Oikawa began and ended, like he was  _ infinite.  _ That he could see the stars reflected on those coffee-colored eyes, black in the night, pinpricks of white on them as he stared at the sky with a breathless smile. Hanamaki’s heart  _ skipped _ and he pressed his hand to his chest, breath  _ gone  _ and-  _ oh… is this- _

“Oi, Makki, stop standing around and give me the soup!” 

He snapped back to reality and swatted Matsukawa with a huff, but he shrugged his back off and pulled out one of the four thermoses within. They were all filled with soup - it was cool enough to warrant that at the least, and it wasn’t like they’d had dinner at home. They’d brought it instead, Iwaizumi’s bag filled with sweets: the dark chocolate he would eat by the kilogram if he could; the white-chocolate dipped strawberries Matsukawa adored; the milk bread Oikawa swore he couldn’t live without; cream puffs for Hanamaki. Matsukawa had brought drinks - water bottles, a thermos of tea, another full of lemonade. Oikawa had brought the  _ actual _ food, bentos full of smoked fish, piles of rice, gyoza, tofu, sushi, tempura - enough for an army. Or rather, four  _ ravenous _ teens who were intent on watching the stars for God knew how many hours. 

“You know,” Iwaizumi said as he stole the bento full of tofu and a water bottle, “We could have just eaten at your house.” 

_ “Hush,”  _ Oikawa huffed as he snatched the package of milk bread from Matsukawa’s hands, “It’s a lot better out here! Just… we’re out in the fresh air, beneath the  _ stars,  _ waiting on a  _ meteor shower,  _ and-” 

“Surrounded by bugs and wild animals,” Matsukawa supplied helpfully. Oikawa smacked his leg and the curly-haired teen threw his head back, cackling and shaking. 

Hanamaki just grinned and bit into a cream puff and took the bento meant for him, piled high with hot food that looked and smelled  _ mouth-watering.  _ He glanced up and found eyes on him - rather,  _ Oikawa’s  _ eyes, scrunched up and excited. Heat flooded Hanamaki’s cheeks as he smiled back, almost  _ shy.  _ “This looks amazing, Oikawa.” 

Oikawa’s smile somehow managed to spread even more as he opened up his own bento, wiggling where he sat. “I’m glad! My sister had to help with some of the things, but I hope you guys like them all! My payment for dragging you all out here.” 

Matsukawa turned on him and snatched Oikawa’s hand up, pulling it close, almost to his lips. Hanamaki’s stomach  _ twisted _ as he watched, breathless. “Oikawa, marry me! I’d gladly put up with your ego for delicious home-cooked meals like this  _ every day _ !” 

“Hey!” Oikawa snatched his hand back and flipped Matsukawa off, which only made him burst into fresh giggles and snorts, but Hanamaki remained still, quiet.  _ Eating Oikawa’s cooking. Every day. That’s… intimate.  _ I _ want that.  _ He shook his head, took the pair of chopsticks Oikawa handed to him, and tried to not think about the way his heart leapt when their fingers brushed, the way it  _ didn’t  _ when the same thing happened when Iwaizumi passed over another pack of cream puffs, or when Matsukawa handed him a water bottle. 

_ This isn’t good.  _

But it only took a glance at Oikawa, a glimpse of that radiant smile and those sparkling eyes, for that to fade back into the back of his mind, leaving him only with a thickness in his throat and a strange sort of awe as he watched, almost forgot to eat, at least until Iwaizumi nudged him and Matsukawa teased him. 

_ Maybe I’m wrong.  _

Hanamaki focused on eating instead, shoveling the rice and gyoza and sushi into his mouth until his cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk’s, a replica of Matsukawa, who had done the same. It made their friends laugh, and they both nearly spewed food all over each other and the blankets trying to hold back laughter of their own. But once they swallowed it down and managed to  _ breathe _ their own sounds filled the night air, loud, raucous against the peace. But it felt  _ good.  _ Loose, no pressures from school or volleyball, or parents. There was nothing in the world except for the grass and blankets beneath them and the darkening sky above, nothing between except for an endless stretch of kilometers and space. 

They finished their food quickly and settled back on the blankets, a gentle wind whispering around them, Hanamaki’s belly certainly a little  _ too _ full, but content all the same. Though, somehow, he had ended up sprawled right beside Oikawa, just a few centimeters between them, and somehow that made him feel  _ weird,  _ more affected than the proximity to Matsukawa on his right did.  _ I think I know why.  _ The thought made him nervous, left his stomach twisted into uncertain knots.  _ Is it okay? Is it alright to be in love with one of my best friends?  _

It certainly  _ felt _ right - the nerves that filled him and the warmth that chased him after every touch, every look,  _ every word _ left him feeling nothing but an eagerness, almost a  _ craving _ for more. He wanted to touch Oikawa, wanted to hold those slender, strong hands that cradled volleyballs and delivered crushing serves and almost delicate sets, elegant in a way even the flow of music couldn’t be. He wanted to stare at him and never look away, to drink in every nuance of his expressions and features until he had committed them all to memory at least twice. He wanted- he wanted  _ a lot.  _ And the thought made a sad smile crawl to his face.  _ I don’t think he’ll ever feel the same though. He’s got all those pretty girls always confessing and talking to him. They’ll be better for him. More acceptable. I-  _

A gasp snapped him out of his thoughts as an arm snapped up to point at the night sky, the stars crystalline. “Look!” Oikawa whispered, voice hushed with wonder. 

Hanamaki tried to follow where he was talking about, but there was a burning in his eyes, tears slipping quietly down the sides of his face, and he blinked frantically. “Where?” 

Oikawa’s hand dropped down and curled into his, pulled it up and guided his hands and eyes up, up, up towards the skies and stars. “There,” Oikawa breathed, and Hanamaki went still. A slice of silver cut through the sky, surprisingly slow, and Hanamaki’s eyes flew wide, awe chasing away the doubt - but not the heat that climbed into his cheeks, left him speechless. “Make a wish,” he whispered into the quiet. 

Hanamaki blinked. Tore his eyes away from the sky to look at Oikawa, who was staring upwards, the universe held within those beautiful eyes.  _ I wish I could tell you.  _

Oikawa linked their fingers, all but his own index finger, and he used that to guide Hanamaki’s eyes across the sky, from that shooting star to the night sky. “There’s the North Star… Cancer… Leo… Virgo… Orion’s belt… Makki, another shooting star!” He let Oikawa guide their hands, Oikawa’s too warm, too gentle, dizzying, and his eyes tracked their fingertips as they moved across the sky from one place to another. And with every shooting star he couldn’t help but make a wish. 

_ I wish things were different. I wish I was brave. I wish I knew if you loved me too. I wish I was someone you could love. I wish-  _

A quiet sniffled jerked him back and he rose up onto his elbow, twisted to face Oikawa. Tears streaked his friend’s cheeks, but there was a  _ radiant _ smile tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked to Hanamaki. That single look snatched his breath away, left him staring, blank, mind short-circuited. 

_ How can you be so beautiful?  _ With pale skin washed out by the moon and blackness he looked  _ ethereal _ lying there, even against a tacky alien blanket. His hair spilled around him, messy and pinned back with bright green bobby pins. And his eyes -  _ oh God, those eyes.  _ They were brilliant, shining in the dark, glistening with tears and the millions of stars that filled those deep brown depths. “I’m just… so happy,” he whispered, voice hushed. 

Hanamaki could only nod, speechless, not really breathing, as he stared for a moment longer,  _ too long,  _ and threw himself back down onto the blanket, heart pounding, eyes clenched tight.  _ I’m fucked. I’m so fucked.  _ But as their hands rose again and Oikawa squeezed his fingers, he could only open his eyes and smile breathlessly.  _ I don’t think I care.  _

Because Oikawa was beautiful in the kind of way that he could never truly describe. Because he would gladly never breathe again if it meant being around that sweet smile and those eyes that held the universe within them. Because he loved Oikawa Tooru desperately, suddenly - or may not so suddenly at all, but loved him wholeheartedly all the same. He squeezed Oikawa’s hand tighter. Smiled. Tipped his head back and watched the meteors race overhead, more and more overtaking the sky, their eyes, his  _ heart.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ฅ(♡ơ ₃ơ)ฅ Some fluf for your soul, so leave me comments


	4. The Wire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanaoi Week Day 4: Mars  
> TW: Panic attack, dissociation, angst (with fluff)
> 
> Hanamaki stared at him for a moment before he frowned and reached out, clasped Oikawa’s arm as he tried to turn. “Tooru-”
> 
> “I’m _fine_ ,” he spat as he whirled around and jerked his arm from Hanamaki’s grip.

Makki watched as Oikawa slammed his locker shut, then pressed his forehead against the cool metal with a sigh, a rare sign of weakness. His hand clenched tight on the locker for a second, but then he pulled back, already smiling once more.  _ But is that really a smile?  _ It certainly wasn’t one of the  _ real  _ ones, the smiles that made his eyes crinkled while his entire face lit up. No, it was feeble, fragile, a thing made of splintered glass. He stepped in and brown eyes slid over, cool, foreign. Something in Makki gave a brutal twist that left him breathless as he reached out, brushed his fingers across Oikawa’s shoulder. “You okay?” he whispered, even though everyone had gone to the shower, leaving just the two of them in the club room. 

Oikawa tensed, shrugged his touch off, and nodded, that smile still fixed to his lips. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just really tired.” Clipped, short, cool. 

It made Hanamaki’s stomach flip and twist as his hand fell back to his side, eyebrows scrunching together. “Tooru… you can talk to me, okay? About anything.” 

His boyfriend glanced back at him and his lips parted, hesitating. He watched as a dozen things flickered across Oikawa’s face, too many conflicting emotions that went too fast for him to sift through before it closed off again as his mouth closed once more. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” 

Hanamaki stared at him for a moment before he frowned and reached out, clasped Oikawa’s arm as he tried to turn. “Tooru-” 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” he spat as he whirled around and jerked his arm from Hanamaki’s grip. 

They both froze, so close that he could see the sheen in Oikawa’s eye as the anger shattered apart as regret and fear stole in. Hanamaki couldn’t even feel his own face, what it had twisted into. Just felt the cold shock in his body, like someone had dunked ice water onto him. He could feel himself slipping, losing his grip as he smiled weakly, hands trembling. “Okay. I’m sorry.” 

“Hiro-” 

Hanamaki turned and  _ ran,  _ bag thumping on his back as he ripped the door to the club room open, heart in his throat, the world blurred around him. Someone called his name as he barreled down the stairs, but he didn’t turn back. He just sprinted along, stumbling when he tripped over objects and pavement cracks unseen by tear-filled eyes. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t  _ breathe _ \- just staggered along, streets whipping past as tears streaked his cheeks.  _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry.  _

He didn’t know how long he’d been running before he stumbled to a stop as his legs gave out. He just crumpled to the ground and hunched in on himself, wheezing into his hands as he rocked down, eyes shut tight. _ I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up- I hurt him, I did something, I-  _ Hanamaki choked on a sob that shook him, left him coughing. One hand clutched his throat. The other tore at the grass beneath him. Ice filled his veins, sharp, frigid, left him trembling as he gasped.  _ I'm sorry, so sorry.  _ He slapped the ground, curled his hand into a fist as his mouth split into a scream. 

A jangle of notes broke his next shuddering inhale and he froze, trembling, sniffling, as it went off. Not Oikawa's “Space Jam” ringtone, but Mattsun's  _ Legend of Zelda _ tune, the chest opening sequence one. He sank back, hands trembling as he fumbled for his phone, pulled it out. “H-hello?” He couldn't help but cringe at the way his voice cracked, how thick it sounded, and another quiet sob burst out as he hugged his arms around himself and shrank in. 

_ “Makki, Takahiro, where are you? What happened? Why is Oikawa here crying?”  _

“I-”  _ It's my fault, I shouldn't have tried to push him, I'm just-  _

_ “Hey, hey, Hiro, no, it's not your fault, what happened isn't your fault. I know you think that, that you can't help it, but it's not your fault, okay?”  _

He nodded along, tongue too thick to move it, and dragged his fingers through his hair as he hiccuped. “I… I just… he looked like was,in p-pain, and I wanted to t-talk to him and- and- Issei… what if he  _ hates _ me?” 

_ “Hiro, he won't hate you, I promise. He won't. Look, where are you? I won't tell him. I won't tell Iwaizumi. It'll just be me. Is that okay?”  _

Hanamaki licked his lips, sucked down a shuddering breath. “O… okay. Ah…” He peeled his eyes from his lap and blinked, licked his dry lips as he slowly sorted everything out. “The playground. By the elementary? I don't…” 

_ “Describe things for me. How they look. Then sounds. But if you can't, if you need to lie down and go quiet, that's okay. I'll be there soon.”  _

Hanamaki nodded woodenly, opened his mouth, closed his eyes. “Can't…” he breathed. He couldn't focus, everything blurring. Couldn't think, mind thick, filled with cotton. 

_ “That's okay. Are you sitting?”  _

“Mm…” His fingers loosened on his phone. He couldn't feel his heart beating. Couldn't feel the rise and fall of his chest. Barely felt the wind on his skin, and yet- His phone slipped from his fingers as his head lolled forward, came to rest on his knees. Everything felt dull, distant. Like he was somewhere else entirely. Thoughts were fleeting, forgotten as soon as they flickered out of his mind, as fast as they’d come. Or maybe there weren’t thoughts at all. Just the sound of his breathing, whisper-soft in his ears. The sluggish thud of his heart behind his ribs. The emptiness that had curled up next to it, a cool, heavy lump. 

He barely felt the touch on his shoulders, but then his head rose, fingers under his chin. Dark brown eyes searched his face. Thick brows furrowed. Lips moved. “Takahiro?” The whisper made him blink. Thumbs passed over his cheeks. “I’m here.” 

He nodded. Licked his lips. Blinked again as he somehow found his voice, barely there. “I don’t… know what I did.” 

Matsukawa’s crooked smile was nowhere to be seen, only bone-achingly sad - but that stirred nothing in Hanamaki as he stared at him, blank, and sniffed. “Takahiro,” Mattsun said quietly, “You didn’t do anything. I promise. No one thinks you did.” 

“But…” 

Mattsun shook his head, squeezed his fingers into Hanamaki’s cheeks. The pressure left his eyes fluttering as his hands came up, wrapped around his friend’s wrists and clutched them tight as he slowly closed his eyes and drew in a ragged breath. Then another. Sensations crept back in. The warmth of the air. The dampness of his skin and shirt, sweat from practice and his frantic dash lingering. The scent of soap. The mix of breaths. The  _ tightness _ in his chest. Hanamaki sucked down another breath, eyes clenched shut, and held it, keeping a hold on the panic that tried to creep back in. “That’s good,” Mattsun said quietly, hands moving hand so his fingers could rub into his scalp, “Really good. Keep it up, Hiro. You can do it. Just keep breathing.” 

He nodded, trembling, and his hands trembled on Matsukawa’s wrists, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t dissolve into gasps. Only a few tears trickled out and he sniffled, but after a few minutes his eyes cracked back open. He ran his tongue along the edge of his canine, pain prickling through. Mattsun didn’t say anything, just rubbed his hair in slow, gentle circles as he waited. It took him another minute to find his voice again, to get it above an incoherent rasp. “Where… where is he?” 

“Iwaizumi made him stay at the club room. He was hysterical.” 

“I… I need to see him.” 

Matsukawa’s eyes flickered, but he nodded and pulled one hand back, slipped his phone from his jacket pocket, and quickly typed out a message. Then his hand returned, but Hanamaki took it between his own, ducked his head, and dropped their hands into his lap. Matsukawa didn’t protest, just let him fidget with his fingers, taking in the details. The callouses at the bases of his fingers from spiking. The ones on his fingertips from learning how to set. The crookedness of his index and middle fingers from where he’d broken them in their first year. His nails, bitten down almost to the quick. “You gotta stop that,” Makki mumbled. 

Mattsun’s shoulders shook with a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’m working on it.” 

“Good.” 

He turned his friend’s hand over, inspected the back. That familiar scar marred the back, a remnant from the time where they’d been fooling around and had accidentally broken a window when Mattsun had somehow managed to  _ put his hand through it.  _ Hanamaki’s shoulders jerked with a soft laugh as he traced the scar. He looked up to find a smile waiting on him. “Yeah, I’m still careful about punching windows.” 

_ “Good,  _ doofus.” 

“Oi-” 

_ “Takahiro.”  _

Their heads snapped up at the sound of the quiet wavering cry of his name. Hanamaki’s heart leapt into his throat. Oikawa stood a few meters away, face crumpled into one of raw grief as he clutched at his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. But he managed a tiny smile, somehow even more fragile than the one from back in the clubroom. Makki surged up, his and Mattsun’s hands falling apart, and he took one hesitant step forward, then another. He didn’t know who moved first, just that suddenly they collided, arms wrapping tight around one another. 

“Tooru-” 

“Takahiro-” 

They gasped their names into each other’s shoulders, shoulders hitching as they clutched at each other, fingers dragging at his shirt, at Oikawa’s hoodie, and they trembled against each other, clinging desperately. “I’m  _ sorry _ ,” Oikawa choked out into his shoulder, then pushed back just enough so they could see each other, the fresh tears in their eyes and their cheeks. The cold expression from before was a different memory, guilt and uncertainty in its place. 

“I-” 

“ _ No _ , Takahiro, you're not apologizing. Not- not for something I fucked up-” 

“But-” 

_ “Takahiro.”  _ Hanamaki stilled, sniffled, and Oikawa's hands tightened on his shoulders, trembling faintly. Weak. Something foreign to the both of them. “Hiro… I'm bad at this and-” Oikawa bit his lip, scrubbed one hand down his face, smearing tears and snot, and his bloodshot eyes found Makki after a moment, the hand tangled in Makki's shirt trembling. “I'm… bad. At talking. I can't- it's hard. It's  _ new.  _ And I'm trying, but… sometimes I forget. Sometimes I don't know what's okay to say, or how to say it, or how to- to- I don't know, how to even  _ think it _ sometimes. It's… not like the court, where I know I can trust everyone to do what they need to. This… this is new. But I  _ want  _ it, and-” 

Hanamaki pressed a finger over Oikawa's lips, and the slew of words halted as he stared, wide-eyed and silently crying, as Makki leaned back in, pressed his face into the crook of Oikawa's neck. He smelled like sweat and muscle creams, like his spicy cologne and the earth around them. “I forgive you,” he whispered, “It'll be okay. We both… we have a lot to learn.” 

Oikawa's shoulders hitched with a laugh, maybe a little too sharp, but they pressed closer, fingers digging gently into skin. “It'll be okay. I understand.” 

Oikawa nodded, silent for a moment, before he sniffed. “I'm so sorry… I… don't want to hurt you. You've already been hurt so much…” 

Hanamaki squeezed Oikawa's arm, kissed the side his neck, biting back fresh tears, even as he smiled. “I know. And I know you'll get better.” 

Oikawa nodded frantically, pressed his fingers in a little tighter. They held there for a long while, bodies together, breathing in each other, before Oikawa spoke, voice hushed. “Are we okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“We should talk about this… later.” Hanamaki nodded. “Do you want to… Do you to spend the night? Me, you, Mattsun, and Iwa?” 

He hesitated, chewed his lip. Smiled as he nodded. “If my parents are okay with it… I really want to.” 

He felt Oikawa smile into the side of his head, and he smiled too as his boyfriend shifted, looked to Iwaizumi and Mattsun. “Let's go to my place, yeah?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Low-key snatched the title from HAIM's "The Wire"  
> Also apparently hanaoi week was vent write week hahahaah *finger guns away*


	5. Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanaoi Week Day 5: Jupiter  
> Crying, angst, fluff
> 
> “Hiro… you’re crying.”
> 
> Makki blinked at him, not quite comprehending for a moment before he untangled one hand from blankets and pressed it to the underside of his eyes. Wet streaks met him. His lips parted. All he found waiting was a cloying thickness in his throat, smothering him as sharp pain lanced up his leg. He inhaled sharply, tried to bite back a sob, but it bubbled out, uncontrollable. _I can't do this._

_ “You'll never play volleyball again.”  _

Makki smiled and waved as Oikawa poked his head into the classroom, a soft smile lighting his face up as he slipped in, ignoring the adoring looks Makki’s classmates cast his way. He was oblivious, had eyes only for one, and that made it a little easier to smile as Makki’s hand fell to his knee, curled around the brace there for a moment before it popped back up. “Hey there Tooru,” he sang as Oikawa set his bag down and pulled up a chair. His boyfriend winked at him and settled into the chair, then rummaged through his bag for a moment. He popped up a second later, a large bag in his hands, and Makki blinked, eyes wide, as he stared at it. “Is that your lunch?” 

“ _ Our _ lunch, you butt,” Oikawa trilled as he set it down, pushed it towards Makki. “Here,” he said with a smile, “You need to eat. I know you haven't been doing that too much lately.” Makki glanced away - he couldn't look Oikawa in the eye, almost couldn't breathe. Not with the weight of the reminder those simple but pointed words. 

_ “You'll never play volleyball again.”  _

His smile was wry, fragile, and he nodded as he took the chopsticks Oikawa passed him, then the top level of the bento. It was filled to the brim with food, all sorts of things that looked good and smelled even better. But rather than growl in hunger his stomach clenched. He took it all in, carefully made and prepared, and looked to Oikawa, who watched him with expectant, excited eyes. “How does it look?” 

“Did you actually make this all yourself?” Makki teased. 

“Yes!” Oikawa cried as he swatted Makki's arm, “I made every bit of it! I just had to follow a tutorial online for like… one thing. So shut your ass, you dick.” 

Makki smirked and shook his head. “Then you wouldn't be getting any.” 

Oikawa stared at him for a long moment before he sighed reluctantly. “You're right… But that doesn't matter. Come on. Eat. I spent a lot of time on this, and I wanna see you eat every. Last. Bite.” 

Makki stuck his tongue out, but the way Oikawa glared him down left no room for arguments, and so he reluctantly picked his chopsticks up and plucked a sushi roll up. Oikawa watched him like a hawk until it was in his mouth and he started to chew before he nodded, satisfied, and started on his own, far less extravagant. Makki just felt a weight in his chest. He couldn't taste it, could barely even feel the weight of it on his tongue as he slowly chewed. He just felt  _ blank,  _ like someone had reached in and scooped out everything that made him  _ him.  _ He could only taste the chalky remnants of pills, even though he'd taken those hours and hours before. He didn't want to eat, didn't want to be at school. The only thing that sounded halfway appealing was lying in his bed and sobbing. Or maybe lying there in crushing apathy. It was hard to tell which would happen anymore. 

_ “You'll never play volleyball again.”  _

His hands tightened on the chopsticks and he swallowed hard, drew in a slow breath. He picked up another piece of food. Started to chew. Swallowed. Oikawa smiled at him. Reached out and touched his cheek, eyes so soft it made Makki’s chest ache. “You’ll be okay,” he said softly, words almost swallowed up by the din of the classroom. 

Makki smiled and nodded, even as bitterness crawled up his throat, thick and unpleasant, before he swallowed it down with a bite of rice. He didn’t respond. It made Oikawa’s brow crease for a moment, but then he began to chatter, smiling as he gestured with his free hand. Makki barely heard the words that left his lips. Barely even saw Oikawa, even though he sat right in front of him.  _ I don’t want to be here.  _ But he had to be. Just for a few more hours. He just had to hold himself together for a little bit longer. Makki slowly chewed, not really tasting his food as he stared blankly at Oikawa. Voices lapped against his ears, dull, muted. 

A touch to his wrist made him look up, blinking the film between he and the rest of the world away. Oikawa stared at him, brow furrowed, lips parted, a question hanging on his lips. “Takahiro…? Are you okay?” 

_ No.  _

He smiled. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Because you’re just… staring at me. And you didn’t even say anything about the cream puff you’re eating.” 

Makki blinked. His eyes flicked down and he stared at his chopsticks for a long minute, not quite comprehending. A cream puff lay between them, a bite taken out of it. He looked back to Oikawa. Managed a smile. “Sorry,” he said softly, “I’m just really tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” That wasn’t exactly a lie - sleep was hard when he was lying there, pain crawling through his knee, even with the drugs. Almost impossible with the tar-like thoughts that clung to his mind, bubbling to the surface when he was alone, suffocating his brain, his lungs, his heart. 

_ “You’ll never play volleyball again.”  _

_ You’ll never be good enough. All your hard work was for nothing. All because you couldn’t take a break.  _ Out of the four of them, everyone had pegged Oikawa for the career-ending injury. Not him. But he’d always had a habit of working too hard, never good enough. And now that was a guarantee. Oikawa’s hand circled around his wrist, squeezed, and Makki smiled. “You should eat. Practice is gonna be long today.” 

“Are you coming?” 

“No. Mom wants me to come back and do exercises.”  _ That  _ was a lie - she hadn’t asked for that. She’d been encouraging him to go to practices, to watch and do his physical therapy exercises there. The thought made him sick, violently so. Being forced to sit there and watch Mattsun go up for blocks, to watch Watari receive cleanly time and time again, Oikawa set to Kyoutani and Iwaizumi or anyone else, Iwaizumi power through block after block. He couldn’t quell the jealousy, couldn’t shut off that darker part of his brain.  _ Why can’t it just stop?  _

Oikawa nodded. “Okay… Do you want me to call when we finish?” 

“If you want.” Makki bowed his head and started to eat, stuffing his cheeks with food that made his stomach uncomfortable. Oikawa didn’t say anything else. They just finished lunch in a stiff silence and then Oikawa stood, collected the bentos, kissed Makki’s forehead, and slipped out. 

Makki left school before any of the team could stop him. He limped home, leg pulsing with pain, already craving the chalky pills and glass of water his mother would hand him when he got home. True to routine she did that, and then he dragged his weary body upstairs to his room and collapsed onto his bed with a sigh. He curled in on himself, ruined leg stretched out, away from him. He sighed. Wrapped his arms tight around his body. Tried not to think as he drifted off. 

_ “You’ll never play volleyball again.”  _

Fingers brushed across his cheek. He stirred, hummed. The touch was warm, familiar. Left him feeling fuzzy as he pressed into it.  _ Don’t stop.  _

“Hiro...” 

His eyes snapped open, found Oikawa hovering overtop him, one hand outstretched, bone-aching grief on his face. “Hiro… you’re crying.” 

Makki blinked at him, not quite comprehending for a moment before he untangled one hand from blankets and pressed it to the underside of his eyes. Wet streaks met him. His lips parted. All he found waiting was a cloying thickness in his throat, smothering him as sharp pain lanced up his leg. He inhaled sharply, tried to bite back a sob, but it bubbled out, uncontrollable.  _ I can't do this.  _

Makki stretched his arms out, hands trembling, and Oikawa was there to meet him with a tiny smile as he pulled Makki close. He couldn't do anything but tremble, the broken pieces he'd fought so hard to keep together falling out of place, leaving him bare as he buried his face into Oikawa's neck, dug his fingers into that strong back, and choked on his tears. The bed dipped. Long legs straddled him. Strong arms curled tight around him, fingers settling into his hair, onto his back, as a soft voice tugged at his attention, almost buried beneath his pitiful sounds. Makki just shook his head, wheezed, and pressed closer.  _ Stupid! Useless! You’re not enough, you’re  _ never  _ enough! You’re just an idiot!  _

Oikawa was skilled. Oikawa was smart. Oikawa hadn’t overworked, hidden behind another’s shadow, until he’d  _ ruined _ himself permanently. But  _ he _ had. He’d thrown himself into drills long after the gym had officially closed, walking back to his house with the other guys, only to turn around and use the spare key he’d copied from Oikawa’s spare key that he’d copied from the original back in their first year to get back into the gym. His parents always thought he was studying, and he was careful to make them not think anything other than that. He’d ignored the pain building in his knee, pushed it down and away, swallowed it away with Advil and Tylenol and half-assed icing it when he actually did collapse into his chair to study. 

And then it had all come to a screeching halt, just a few short weeks ago, when he’d gone back to practice. When he’d darted forward and felt something in his knee give, agony flaring through his knee. When he’d lain on the floor for what felt like hours, sobbing his heart out and fading in and out of consciousness, until he’d managed to crawl over to the benches and dial Oikawa, to sob into the phone before he collapsed once more and woke up in the hospital. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid!  _

A shuddering breath scraped against his ears and he turned, pressed his face against Oikawa’s throat and whimpered quietly. “I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he managed, voice trembling, cracking, “I- I should’ve- I wasn’t careful- I-” 

“Hiro, baby, I know. I know… you don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s okay. I know, it hurts.” Feathery touches trailed down his spine as he trembled, pulled Oikawa in, gasped into his neck. But he managed to nod, managed to swallow hard and suck down a breath, fingers loosening and tightening on Oikawa’s shirt until they went limp in his shirt, holding on weakly. He just felt numb, blank. Different than the other times, but there nonetheless. He sniffled quietly. Oikawa’s hands squeezed on him. “It’ll be alright,” he said softly, “I promise. We’ll get through this.” 

Makki just nodded weakly and clung to him, holding tight, desperate for some sense of security, safety, warmth to take away the chill in his veins. Oikawa kissed the top of his head. His fingers swept down Makki’s spine. “I’m right here. We’ll get through this. It’ll be okay.” 

Makki managed to jerk his head once more. “Okay…”


	6. Close (To Breaking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanaoi Week Day 6: Saturn  
> TW: Non-con elements from a sex-repulsed asexual forcing himself into sex (no outside force)
> 
>  
> 
> _There’s something wrong with me._

_ There’s something wrong with me.  _

Tooru clamped down on the thought, bit his tongue as Takahiro shifted overtop him, one hand on his cock, pumping it slowly as he kissed Tooru’s neck hungrily, full of teeth and tongue and harsh sucks. Heat coiled in his belly, but it felt tense, conflicted, hot pleasure mixed with something that  _ burned  _ \- uncertainty? Discomfort? He couldn’t be sure. There was simply too much - too much touching, too much heat, too much  _ everything.  _ And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

A thumb passed over the tip of his cock and he arched up, whimpering, gasping at the sensation. His hands fluttered up and he buried them into Takahiro’s hair, tugged hard on it as he moaned quietly. He didn’t know if he was doing that because he wanted Takahiro  _ off,  _ and preferably  _ soon.  _ “H-Hiro,” he croaked, rocking up into his hand. 

Takahiro panted into his neck for a moment more before he leaned back, hand sliding a little faster, lube and cum squelching as he smiled, the beautiful, breathtaking kind that snatched Tooru’s thoughts away, left him staring, mouth wide, as Takahiro pecked him on the nose. “You close?” he breathed, voice rougher than Tooru had ever heard it. 

He nodded, uncertain, and bit his lip, choked on the burn in his eyes and the weird feeling in his stomach. Takahiro beamed and leaned in, kissed him. It was so  _ gentle _ that the sob that bubbled out felt natural, a burst of  _ something _ leaving him in a rush as tears streaked his cheeks, Takahiro’s lips sweet, soft against his. Another sweep of his thumb carried Tooru over the edge and he shuddered, cum filling Takahiro’s hand as sparks snapped up Tooru’s spine, flooded through his body - but all that it left him was a strange, uncomfortable feeling, even as Takahiro leaned back and smiled sunnily. “Was that good?” 

Tooru’s mouth opened, protests hanging on his lips. He forced a smile, soft and warm as a few more tears slipped down his face. “Yeah. It was.” 

Takahiro beamed and kissed him again as he sank back and pressed his cum-filled hand to his abdomen. “Can I… can I cum on you?” 

Tooru’s throat worked around a thick lump, a chill replacing the heat that had been there. He nodded. Smiled. Reached up and wrapped his hand overtop Takahiro’s hip. “Go ahead.” 

But all he felt was sick when Takahiro leaned back over him, kissing him as he touched himself until he came with a loud cry, hot and thick all over Tooru’s chest. And that made his throat close up as he wrapped his arms around his lover, pressed him close, and closed his eyes.  _ Something’s wrong. This isn’t right.  _

That thought didn’t ease up. It was there the next morning when he leaned up against the counter in nothing but an oversized shirt, eyes fixed on the coffee pot as it chugged along, slowly dripping coffee into the pot.  _ Come on. I just want to wake up already.  _ He needed to wake up, needed to get to work, needed to smother the strange feelings that colored his memories blue, left him squirming every time his thoughts strayed to the night before.  _ What’s wrong with me?  _

He ran his tongue along his teeth, curled his fingers overtop his stomach, right where that knot had been.  _ What the hell?  _ That had been his first time doing  _ anything _ like that except for those rare moments as a teen, and those had always been dull, more of a disgusting chore he avoided whenever possible. In the movies and books and dramas they’d always made it out to be some big, beautiful thing. And sure, he’d felt pleasure, more than he had ever gotten on his own - but that didn’t change the strange feeling that weighed on his stomach.  _ Maybe I was just sick.  _

Warm arms wrapped around his waist as a body pressed against his, loose and heavy. And a half-formed erection bumped against his ass. Tooru’s hands clenched tight over his stomach, then instantly loosened as Takahiro’s fingers slipped along his skin, threaded their fingers together. “Morning,” he breathed as he pressed a soft kiss to Tooru’s ear. He merely hummed quietly and focused on the coffee rather than the slight stiffness behind him. Takahiro laughed quietly and pressed another kiss to the side of his neck before he pulled back and moved, rummaging in the cupboards until he produced two mugs. 

Tooru smiled faintly and pulled the full coffee pot off the hotplate and poured them each a steaming mug, watching with tired eyes as the images on them slowly shifted with the heat, stars blooming on his, a green frog on Takahiro’s. His lover giggled as he reached for the creamer and sugar, but Tooru just sipped at his, wincing as it burned his tongue. Takahiro shook his head, grinning as he patted Tooru’s shoulder. “One day I’ll convince you to drink something other than the black death.” 

“Good fucking luck,” Tooru mumbled into the black liquid as he took another sip and hummed quietly. “We still on for the movie tonight?” 

Takahiro grinned and pushed himself up onto the counter, legs swinging gently as he nodded. “Yep! It'll be  _ epic _ \- you remember the trailers, right?  _ God,  _ I can't wait!” Tooru smiled, a little thin, and hid his lingering uncertainty with another sip, and then a lasting kiss to Takahiro's lips before they both moved to get ready, milling around in Tooru's apartment for a while. 

It was startling how easy it was to push the memories of that night to the side, to squash them down underfoot so he could focus on other things - stuff that didn't leave him lying in bed, staring at his ceiling and wondering what the fuck had happened while he waited for Takahiro to get off work and come back to the apartment he practically lived in. The events of the night vanished beneath the stress of work, the rush of volleyball, the dash to hang out with friends. 

It had fully disappeared from his mind for nearly three weeks until Takahiro pressed him against the counter of the kitchen, kissing gently at his neck. Their hips rocked together, Takahiro already half-hard and clearly eager to continue. Tooru’s eyes clenched shut against the strange fluttering in his stomach, but he curled his hands into Takahiro’s shirt and pulled him closer.  _ It’ll be okay. Takahiro loves me. I need to show him I love him just as much.  _

A hand slipped between their legs and cupped him through his jeans, and Tooru’s head dropped forward with a quiet moan, the touch sending warmth up his spine to curl with the cold lump in his chest. He panted into Takahiro’s neck until his lover pulled back and the hand in his hair slid back to cup his face, cradling it carefully, like he was fragile. Tooru blinked, stared at Takahiro. His amber eyes were soft, matched with a smile so tender that it snatched Tooru’s breath away, left him unsteady as he stared. “You’re so beautiful, Tooru,” he whispered. 

The brunet smiled and leaned forward, pressed their lips together. “You are too, Hiro,” he said just as quietly. Takahiro grinned mischievously as his hand started to move on Tooru’s cock, slow but firm. The touch made him gasp and he twisted, trembling as his mouth moved, tried to form words. Protests and cries for more bubbled up, but they both died in the back of his throat, left his mouth tasting foul as he unconsciously bucked up into Takahiro’s warm hand. 

A ragged breath left him as he leaned forward, wrapped his arms tight around Takahiro’s neck and hid his face in the crook of his shoulder. His fingers tangled into soft pink hair. Fingers danced across his fly, tugged it down as he whimpered quietly, squirming against the countertop. Hasty movements pushed their pants down, but he kept his face buried, biting his tongue, choking on the thickness in his chest, the searing pain in his eyes. 

Takahiro kissed the slope of his shoulder, sank his teeth in, pressed so close that their cocks bumped together for a second before he wrapped his hand around them, long fingers easily fitting around their lengths, slick - he must have licked them. Tooru tugged harder on Takahiro’s hair, cried out as a thumb swept across the heads of their cocks. But despite the pleasure that burned through him, his thoughts spun, dizzying, centered around that impossible weight in his chest and the need to  _ escape.  _

_ What’s wrong with me? Am I broken? Why can’t I just enjoy this?  _

The thought scared him, but he swallowed his tears and terror and pulled back, crushed their lips together, breathed in Takahiro’s delighted moan. And he let his lover carry them both over the edge with firm, easy strokes of his hand, teasing Tooru with an orgasm only to slow his pace, to leave them both trembling and gasping until they came. Takahiro slumped against him, the kiss slowing, no longer bruising, just a languid slide of lips that coaxed a hum out of Tooru before he pushed Takahiro back with gentle fingers and a fragile smile. “I’m gonna go shower.” 

Takahiro laughed and kissed him once more before he ushered Tooru along. He barely managed to make it in there, lock the door, and crouch on the bottom of the floor before it began, and he’d never been more grateful for the pound of water as it covered up the pathetic sounds of his gasps and sobs.  _ I’m broken. I’m useless. I love him - why can’t I have sex with him? _

It wasn’t so easy to forget after that. Every kiss left him biting back a flinch, unsure if it would end up with a hand on him, touching him like  _ that.  _ It was pathetic, sad, crippling. But Tooru kept his lips sealed tight, forced the feelings down as much as he possibly could, desperate to fool himself, to think he was  _ normal.  _ But it wasn’t enough. And that left him huddled on Takahiro’s bed, limbs pulled into his chest, arms wrapped around his knees as he stared blankly at the duvet.  _ Takahiro doesn’t beat me, doesn’t abuse me in any way. Why am I freaking out? There's no fucking reason to! I- _

“Tooru, ‘m home!” 

Tooru froze for a moment, then unwound his arms, sucked down a deep breath.  _ Stop being such a fucking baby.  _ He  _ loved _ Takahiro. And that meant that  _ whatever _ was going on, he needed to get over, and  _ soon.  _ “In the bedroom!” he called back. 

Soft footsteps drew close, and then Takahiro poked his head in, grinning brightly. “Hey there sweetheart,” he sang, “Guess what I got!” 

Tooru couldn’t help but smile back as he leaned forward, curious already. “If it’s an animal, you’re taking care of it.” 

Takahiro burst into laughter, but he opened the door wider and held out his hand. A bag of milk bread danced from his fingers, and Tooru instantly straightened up, eyes bright as he beamed. “From that really nice bakery by my office! I thought you’d want some. You’ve been… it seems like you’ve been sad lately.” That last sentence trailed off into a hush, made Tooru freeze as Takahiro’s smile faltered. His lover tangled his fingers together, head bowed, still in the entryway of his own bedroom, as he fiddled with part of the package. His eyes flicked up, hesitant, a little scared. “You can talk to me… okay? About anything.” 

Tooru swallowed hard, heart tripping to a new beat.  _ I should- I can’t. This isn’t normal, it can’t be. I’m just a freak. I’m just… broken. I don’t want him to know. Not yet.  _ Tooru slid off the bed and padded across the room, wrapped his arms around Takahiro, soft but firm. “It’s okay,” he whispered into Takahiro’s ear, “I’m just stressed from work. I’ll be fine, Hiro. Thank you.” 

Hesitant fingers curled into his shirt, then tugged gently, but after a moment Takahiro nodded. They lingered there for a long moment before Takahiro pulled back and smiled, then pressed the milk bread into Tooru’s chest. “C’mon, I’ll put on a movie in the living room.” 

“Okay.” 

Takahiro put on  _ Alien _ and they curled up together on the couch, Tooru pressed against Takahiro’s chest, the milk bread on his lap. His partner tore pieces off and carefully fed them to him, delicate and tender, and Tooru smiled with every bite of bread Takahiro gave him. When it was gone Takahiro tangled their fingers together, kissed every knuckle he could reach, and pulled Tooru close. They fell asleep like that, curled up close, the screams of the cast and the aliens filling their ears. Tooru woke up in Takahiro's bed the next morning, one arm still secure around his waist, and he could only smile and bury his face into the pillows as he drifted back off, no dark thoughts teasing his mind. 

It didn't last. 

They chased him, nipping at his heels as he and Hajime went to the store for groceries and Hajime grabbed a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube with a faint flush and an awkwardly mumbled apology and something about Daichi. It clouded the bright glow Takahiro's kisses left him as they pressed close to each other, hands intertwined, foreheads pressed together. It made him  _ anxious,  _ the kind that left his nails bitten down and his lips raw from how he gnawed at them. But he didn't say anything. He choked on the words every time they bubbled up, cloying, suffocating. And he smiled through it all, desperate to fool himself into thinking he was anything close to  _ normal.  _

And that was what had landed him in the current situation, spread out on his bed, stripped bare, while Takahiro dragged his fingers along down his body while Tooru lay there, hitching and twisting under him. Tooru buried his fingers into Takahiro's hair, bit back a quiet cry as wet lips pulled off his cock, aching and leaking. His lover beamed at him, licked his lips as his thumbs stroked the hollows of his hips. One hand slipped down, traced the side of Tooru’s cock, teased the skin of his balls. “Tooru…” he said softly, “Can I put my fingers…?” 

He didn’t finish the question, didn’t need to. His fingers were pressed to his entrance, touch feathery, unsure. Tooru’s chest seized, the weight in his chest spiking, frigid as it crept up his throat, threatened to smother him. But Tooru forced a smile to his lips and canted his hips up and down onto Takahiro’s fingers. Those eyes darkened even more, hungry as Takahiro lunged forward, pressed their lips together in another sweet kiss. “I love you,” he breathed against Tooru’s mouth, “I love you so, so much.” 

He was gone a moment later and that gave Tooru a chance to  _ breathe,  _ lungs not quite cooperating as he fisted his hands into the sheets and waited. Takahiro was back a second later, pressing kisses all over his chest before he worked his way down and opened the bottle with a click. Tooru bit his lip, savage. A gentle hand tugged one of his legs over a shoulder. Slick fingers worked around his entrance and Tooru whimpered, unsure of where to go. He wanted relief from the heat pulsing through him. He wanted Takahiro to stop, to not touch him. He wanted- 

A finger slipped in and he twisted, hands grasping, frantic, desperate to keep it together. His eyes burned as he bowed his head back, buried it into the pillow next to him so Takahiro couldn’t see him  _ break.  _ The finger stopped though, just barely inside him. A hushed voice broke the silence filled with gasps. “Tooru… you okay?” 

He pulled his head out a little, just enough to see Takahiro. His brow was knitted with concern, his eyes fixed on Tooru, clearer.  _ Just tell him!  _ Tooru swallowed, thrust the voices down, and nodded with a bright smile. “Yep! I’m great!” 

Takahiro eyed him for a moment longer before he grinned and kissed Tooru’s knee with a soft laugh. “Sorry, I just worry. You were really quiet there for a second.” 

Tooru shrugged as he sank his teeth into his tongue and rolled his hips down, heat and icy sludge tugging at his gut. Amber eyes widened a little, and then Takahiro’s smile went devilish as he gently bit the inside of Tooru’s knee. The finger pressed deeper. Tooru gasped, tried to breathe, as he jerked the pillow into his face, hiding away from those prying eyes. Instead he tried desperately to focus on something, on  _ anything _ else. Something other than the overwhelming disgust that twisted his gut into knots, that made him whimper as his hips canted away at the intrusion of a second finger, even though it didn’t hurt. The kisses Takahiro smoothed over his stomach only made it  _ worse,  _ made his mouth drop open in a silent wail. 

_ Just enjoy it! Get over yourself! You fucking idiot, just- just-  _

He didn’t know what he wanted. Couldn’t tell if he wanted more, for the climax to finally come and just  _ end it,  _ or if he wanted Takahiro off  _ right now.  _ A sob burst out, tears streaming down his cheeks as his hands snapped up, pressed over his face. He couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ Could barely even feel as those fingers slipped out of him and a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Tooru-  _ Tooru,  _ sweetheart, baby, what’s wrong, what’s-” 

“C-c-can’t,” he croaked before he heaved himself up, threw his arms around Takahiro. The revulsion clogged his throat, shook him down to his frozen core as he trembled, clutched at Takahiro. Tears painted his cheeks in hot, thick swaths. Dimly he felt hands on him, petting, soothing. Words in his ears, incoherent, inaudible beneath the wails that punched out of him, left him whimpering and shivering when sounds fell away, not nearly enough.  _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m just a freak, I’m-  _

“Baby, you’re not a freak,” Takahiro said quietly, hands brushing across Tooru’s shoulders. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not going to touch you anymore, I’m just going to hold you. It’ll be okay, I promise. You’re fine. We’re fine.” 

Tooru merely sniffled and nodded weakly, tongue and words failing him as he shoved their bodies closer together, as close as they could possibly get. He clung to that warmth, held it tight and breathed in Takahiro’s familiar scent. “I’m  _ sorry… _ ” he whispered, voice quavering through the quiet. Takahiro just squeezed him tighter and kissed the top of his head as he swept one hand along Tooru’s back once more. And, somehow, that only made him cry once more, quietly this time, quivering as he sniffled and bit back anything else that might slip out, unbidden. 

It felt like hours crept by before he truly went still, eyes wet and puffy, aching from all the tears. He didn’t pull away from Takahiro though. He just kept clutching him, one hand on a shoulder, the other on his back. There was a hand in Tooru's hair, another on his back. Takahiro had fallen quiet at some point and settled for petting Tooru’s hair with slow, gentle sweeps, but with that new descent into silence his fingers stilled at the base of Tooru’s head. 

“Tooru?” 

His voice was quiet, wobbling. The fingers in Tooru’s back dug in gently. His stomach flipped. Tooru pressed his eyes into Takahiro’s skin, hiding away, but it didn’t work, not when those familiar hands slipped along his body, curled around his arms, and nudged him back. Tooru kept his face down as he sniffled quietly. A soft touch beneath his chin forced him to look up though, and he tried to force a weak smile, but with Takahiro’s distressed expression his pathetic attempt failed. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Sick…” he mumbled. 

Takahiro nodded and reached up to cradle Tooru's face between both hands, warm and solid. Something to cling to. Tooru's hands rose, curled around his wrists, and Takahiro flashed a faint smile that died all too soon. “Where do you feel sick?” 

“Stomach.” 

“Like throwing up sick or anxiety sick?” 

“Anxiety.” 

“Do you want some water?” 

“No…” 

“Do you… Do you want to talk about it?” 

Tooru's chest went  _ tight,  _ felt like it would crush everything inside as he stared at Takahiro. The brunet licked his lips. Let out a shuddering breath. “It's… stupid.” 

The thumbs on his cheeks pressed in ever so slightly, just enough to refocus him, and then Takahiro shook his head. “Whatever makes you cry like that is  _ not  _ stupid, okay? You're important to me, Tooru. I  _ love _ you. Whatever hurts you affects me too, and I want to know.” Tooru blinked at him, held his gaze for a long moment before he nodded with a quiet exhale. His lips parted, but nothing emerged. He closed them, swallowed, took another steadying breath. A soft kiss was brushed across his forehead. “You’re okay. Take your time.” 

Tooru nodded. Sucked another breath down to steel himself. “I don’t… Having sex. It makes me feel… bad.” The words were hushed as they tumbled haltingly from his lips to hang there, waiting for Takahiro to pick them up or let them fall. Tooru’s eyes scrunched shut as he bit his lip, unable to look, to face that amber stare. 

“It does?” Takahiro said softly. Tooru nodded stiffly. Every part of him felt  _ fragile,  _ unbearably so. Like a whisper of air could shatter him into pieces. “How so?” 

“It… I feel really bad. Like I’m gonna be sick. It’s… really uncomfortable and I don’t… I  _ hate _ it. It makes me feel  _ awful,  _ and- and… and  _ I’m so sorry,  _ I just- I tried, but I can’t- I can’t be  _ normal _ .” The words were whimpered, pushed out with shuddering breaths and a few fresh tears. 

But the hands on his cheeks tightened, lifted his face until Tooru opened his eyes and  _ looked.  _ Tear-filled eyes met him. He wheezed, tried to speak, but nothing came out as he gaped at Takahiro, who sniffled wetly. “I didn’t notice…” he whispered, “I didn’t… I should have  _ noticed, _ Tooru, oh my God, baby-” 

“ _ No _ ,” he gasped, “It’s not your fault! I-I kept telling you it was okay when it wasn’t, and I’m just a f-freak and-” 

“Tooru, baby, no-” 

“ _ Yes,  _ Takahiro, I-” 

A hand clapped over Tooru’s mouth and they both froze, staring at each other with fresh tears in their eyes, chests heaving for air. Takahiro bit his lip, but his eyes didn’t stray as he looked Tooru in the eye, unwavering. “Tooru, you are not a freak. Absolutely not. It’s perfectly normal to not like sex and- No, please, let me talk. It’s okay. There’s a term for that. It’s called asexual and- have you not heard of that?” 

Tooru hesitated, shook his head. A weak laugh rattled out of Takahiro. His thumb ran along Tooru’s cheek bone, a gesture that eased the ball of tension heavy in Tooru’s chest, and he pressed his lips to Tooru’s forehead for a chaste kiss before he leaned back and they looked at each other once more. Takahiro smiled softly as he nodded. “Yeah, asexual. Those are people who don’t feel sexual attraction. Some of them can even be sex repulsed.” 

“Oh…” It made sense - a lot of sense. And it left him blinking at Takahiro for a long moment before his mouth opened again. “So… I’m not broken?” 

Takahiro smiled faintly. “No Tooru, you’re not.” 

A laugh bubbled out, uncontrollable, sharp, and Tooru flung his arms around Takahiro. They toppled back, Takahiro’s arms going tight around his waist as they pulled each other close, Tooru laughing so hard he gasped, Takahiro grinning into his hair. That died away after a minute though, and Tooru pushed himself up so they could see each other, sober. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I was just… really scared.” 

Takahiro squeezed his back, smiled softly. “I understand. It… it makes me sad, but I’m glad it didn’t go further.” 

One hand slid up, curled into Tooru’s hair. “Can I get a kiss, then we go shower?” 

Tooru smiled and leaned in. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ʕง•ᴥ•ʔง idk man


	7. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanaoi Week Day 7: Uranus
> 
> “How did it go? How are you doing? How’s the baby? How are _you_? Are you sleeping well? Feeling sick yet? How about-”
> 
> “ _Tooru_ , give it a rest,” Takahiro chided.

“Guys, guys, be  _ quiet,  _ it’s Yacchan!” Tooru nearly shrieked. Instantly they all fell silent and heads turned toward him as he put the phone to his ear, a sunny smile fixed in place even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Yacchan! Hi! How are you feeling?” 

_ “Perfect,”  _ she chirped, no longer the shy young woman they’d met when going through the list of surrogate candidates. No, she’d done a lot of growing in the last year and a half, and he could hear it in the calm certainty of her voice as she spoke to him, then said something softer that another feminine voice replied to, presumably Kiyoko. And then her voice returned.  _ “Tooru, I was wondering if we could come over. We just went for the ultrasound, and I thought you’d want to hear the news in person.”  _ The statement made his heart plummet, the pause only filling him with dread until she gasped.  _ “Oh my God! No, no, it’s good news, I promise! Ah, I’m so sorry! I promise, it’s good, I’m just really tired.”  _

“Oh thank God,” he said softly, and then turned to his partner and friends, smiling brightly. “You guys mind if Hitoka and Kiyoko come over for a bit?” 

Takahiro perked up, eyes going wide as he straightened up from his slumped-over position over the back of the couch. “Everything’s okay right?” 

“Yeah, she just wants to tell us in person.” 

Takahiro grinned and looked to Issei and Hajime, who shrugged and smiled back. “Sure! Ask them if they want to stay for dinner - there’s gonna be more than enough.” 

Tooru relayed the message, and Hitoka gave him a cheery yes, then a time estimate, and they hung up. He couldn’t help but stand in the kitchen for a long time, staring at the counter, nerves twisting his stomach. Even if the news was good, it had to be  _ big.  _ It was news on the sex of their baby, on whether or not it was healthy, on  _ so much.  _ And it made him tremble a little, right as warm arms wrapped around his waist. Lips whispered across his ear and it made him smile as he clutched Takahiro’s arms tight, clinging to him for strength. “We’re close,” Takahiro whispered, “So  _ close _ to having a baby.” 

Tooru could only nod, throat thick, and he twisted in Takahiro’s gasp, hugged him like the world depended on it.  _ And maybe it does.  _ It took them a long while to separate, and by then one of the other two had already cued up another movie and Issei spread out across the entire couch, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. Takahiro prodded him back off the couch and Issei satisfied himself with sprawling into Hajime’s lap, content to press their heads together and hold loosely to his chest while Takahiro and Tooru curled back up on the couch. 

But Tooru’s mind was anywhere  _ but _ on the movie. He couldn’t help it - he  _ tried.  _ But his eyes were on the clock, ticking the minutes away, body tensing until the doorbell rang and he shot up, Takahiro tumbling out of his side with a little squawk. “Sorry babe,” he managed before he bolted over to the door, three laughs twisting through the air as he unlocked it and threw it open. 

Kiyoko and Hitoka stood outside, one of Kiyoko’s arms loosely wrapped around her partner, Hitoka’s hands on her belly, already startlingly prominent even though she was only eighteen weeks along. But there was a glow about her face as she smiled at him, still a little shy, and patted the underside of her bump. “Hey there, Tooru.” 

“Hitoka, Kiyoko!” 

He swept them both in for hugs, gentler with Hitoka, and then ushered them in, where Takahiro hugged them both warmly as well, while Issei and Hajime were far more casual about their greetings, sticking to simple waves. Kiyoko insisted that she help Yachi out of her jacket, and the blonde didn’t protest too much - it made Tooru curious to see how she’d be in a few months when she was ready to pop. He and Takahiro gave the girls the long couch and took the shorter loveseat for themselves, Tooru nearly off the edge, visibly trembling as he leaned forward. “How did it go? How are you doing? How’s the baby? How are  _ you _ ? Are you sleeping well? Feeling sick yet? How about-” 

“ _ Tooru,  _ give it a rest,” Takahiro chided. 

Tooru clammed up instantly, smiling apologetically at the two. Hitoka waved them off with an easy grin, and she made to speak but Tooru jackknifed upright, mouth open in horror.  _ “I forgot to ask if you wanted a drink,”  _ he whispered, right as the rational part of his mind kicked in.  _ Stop overreacting, dumbass!  _ He knew he was, but he couldn’t  _ help it _ \- he was just so  _ nervous,  _ desperate for the news, to finally hear. 

Takahiro tugged him back down rather forcibly and shot a glance at Hajime. “Hajime, can you get them some drinks? What do you both want?” 

“Water for me.” 

“Water as well, please!” 

Hajime just snorted, but he shoved Issei off his legs and rose to grab their water while Takahiro pinned Tooru down, one hand on his back, fingers rubbing soothing circles into his spine. He let out a tense breath and the two women smiled fondly. Hitoka’s fingers whispered along her baby bump, black fabric crinkling under her touch as her eyes softened. She waited until Hajime returned and set down their glasses of water before she began, voice lilting with amusement. “Well, I’ll go ahead and tell you everything went well - better than anticipated honestly. And…” Her hands stilled on her stomach, the tender smile blossoming into a grin as she fully looked at them. “It’s triplets.Three healthy baby girls.” 

It took a long moment for the words to register, and by then Takahiro’s hands were tight on his, shaking him as he stared at them, dumb. And then a smile of his own appeared. Right as the tears started to rush down his cheeks, thick and hot as he blubbered, incoherent, and bent over. Arms wrapped around him, tears dripping onto his neck as Takahiro sobbed with him, their bodies shaking together this time as they clung to each other, desperate.  _ “Three,”  _ Tooru choked out  when he managed to rise, seconds before he buried his face into Takahiro’s shoulder and started to sob even harder. 

Elation made the world spin, reduced it to his beautiful husband as they clutched at each other and then pulled apart, sniffling and crying still, cheeks stained red, eyes swelling. Tooru’s fingers dug into Takahiro’s arm.  _ “Three,”  _ he whispered again, unable to stop. He wanted to throw the door open, to scream it out to the entire neighborhood.  _ I’m going to be a dad. We’re both going to be dads. To three beautiful baby girls.  _

He hauled Takahiro in again and crushed his husband into his chest, choking and gasping and  _ beaming.  _ It was all they could do to stand and pull Hitoka in for another tight hug, cautious of her stomach, of the precious lives growing inside. But the thanks that poured out, over and over, incessant despite how she waved them off, poured out with ease, smothering her in them until Hajime finally pulled them off and made them  _ breathe.  _

They spent the rest of the night clinging to each other, grinning and radiant, and if they opened a special bottle of wine once everyone was gone, no one had to know. Only they did, spinning the yellow-white liquid through glasses as they kissed, held each other close, and dreamed of all that was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (๑و•̀ω•́)و and that's a wrap~

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment yo ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ  
> Again, this is a vent write basically. The rest of the fills will be a little lighter.  
> Thanks for reading and hit me up at [fairylights101writes](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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